He took a deep breath, attempted a smile. “I know.”
“You know what?” Her tone offered a question, but on the edges of inquisition was a burgeoning shadow of dawning knowledge.
“About the letter. It wasn’t particularly difficult to figure out. You’re a scarily brilliant woman, but you underestimated, perhaps, my own deductive reasoning. You gave it to me. Yes, you said it came from town, but there was no postage or wear from delivery. It had obviously been written in the manor. And once I arrived here…” He hesitated to continue. This was the most damning part of his confession. “Once I arrived here, I found a book with your notes in the margins and compared the handwriting. It matched.”
Her hand lifted to her lips, then tugged on her earlobe while the other one fluttered about her chest, her skirts. “I… I don’t know what to say.”
Devon dreaded the words that would finally form, but he also felt lighter, relieved. “This was a good idea, Lil, clearing the air between us.”
Her head began to shake like a leaf on a limb. Hopefully, it would not break loose and fall to the floor, rolling to a stop at his feet, face up with an accusing scowl. Right now, her face had not settled on a single emotion to express.
“Should I call for some tea?” he asked. “I know you prefer it in the warmer months.”
She stumbled forward, and he lurched to catch her, but she grabbed the back of a chair and steadied herself with a white-knuckled grip.
“You’ve known this whole time,” she said. She floated around the chair and sat in it, sinking slowly like a leaf on the water.
He wished he had worn his greatcoat, so he could pull up the collar and hunch into it, dive his hands deep into the pockets, and wrap himself up until he was invisible. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back, but that left his gut, his heart, open and vulnerable, so he crossed his arms over his chest and turned to the window. Better. But what if she sneaked up on him from behind and smashed a vase into his skull? He looked nervously about the room. No vases. Perhaps he was safe.
She was clever, though. If she wanted to bludgeon him, she’d find a way.
“Why?”
The single question spoken so softly, as if she were lost in a foggy wood, made him dip his head, droop more into himself. “I suppose I didn’t tell you because…” He rolled his shoulders in frustration. “I came here to annoy you. That’s the truth of it. I thought, this woman thinks she’s better than me, and she’s likely right, but she doesn’t have to get away with it.” He pressed a palm against the warm glass and searched the street for something to make this easier. Nothing.
He turned and walked toward her, hesitant steps, slow ones that waited for her to tell him to stop.
She did not.
He continued his measured approach. When he passed a chair, he grabbed the back of it and pulled it behind him, nestling it close to her, then seating himself so that their knees interlocked—his, hers, his, hers. He placed his hands on his knees and faced her, waiting for the command to leave. She only rolled her lips between her teeth and waited.
He stretched his fingers, then curled them once more on top of his thighs. “I came here to annoy you, but I stayed because I found purpose. In your father’s workshop. I found a problem I wanted to solve, and though I enjoyed teasing you, I enjoyed watching you blossom more. From stuttering wallflower to confident incomparable. It inspired me. I admired you—I do admire you. I think I did not tell you because I knew how little you admire me. The letter always reminded me.” He reached into his jacket pocket where he always kept the epistle, and he pulled it forth. He held it out to her.
She moved for the first time in what seemed like hours, days, years. Her fingers trembled as she took the letter and unfolded it. Her eyes scanned from left to right and back, lower and lower down the page. As she read, her cheeks flamed. When she finally let the letter flutter to her lap and lifted her gaze to his, he found her… angry?
She poked his shoulder. “What in that letter says I do not admire you? Tell me that!”
He fumbled for the letter, his fingers brushing against the warm muslin of her skirt. “Look!” He pointed at the paper. “You call me a fool.”
“After I give you a million and one compliments.Hmph. I was right, you are a fool.”
He leaned back in his chair, spreading his legs so that the one trapped between hers rested against the inside of her thigh.
She blushed.
He kept it there. “What are you angry with me about? Missing the compliments or not telling you I knew the letter’s author?”
“Both,” she snapped, “I suppose.” She stood, pushing her chair backward, and paced away from him.
He followed after her, pacing right behind her, an impossible smile curving his lips. He should not be smiling, but she had not yet kicked him on his arse, and thatmeantsomething. Maybe she wouldn’t. Made him smile, that did. He’d come to ask for a delay on the wedding, been roped into revealing a secret, and now found himself pursuing her once more. Why hadn’t he pursued her ages ago?
She whipped around. “What do you mean by that?”
He stopped, bumping into her and taking a step back to give her space. “By what?”
“You said you should have pursued me ages ago.”
“I did? Didn’t mean to say that bit out loud.”
